Reclamation
by SpyKate
Summary: Another ordinary day, another ordinary alias... for a mission that is anything but ordinary. Written because I miss him! 11 11


"Welcome to Charlton and Sayles. How may I help you?"  
  
Sydney Bristow smiled warmly behind dark rimmed glasses as she slid a business card across the marble desk and into the waiting hand of the eager young receptionist.  
  
"My name is Veronica Chance, from Howard Klein's office. I have a two- thirty appointment with Nicholas Bryar."  
  
The receptionist's smile never faded as she tapped away at her computer keyboard. "Oh, yes, Ms. Chance. It's so good to have you. Won't you please sign in?"  
  
Picking up the sterling silver pen, Sydney gave a cursory glance to her surroundings before scribbling her alias in the book and reaching out for her visitor's pass. After clipping it to her lapel, she thanked the receptionist and headed directly to the elevator.  
  
Exiting at the third floor, she was greeted by an administrative assistant in an appallingly short skirt.  
  
"Ms. Chance?" She questioned, her bright blue eyes wide and bordered with desperate amounts of mascara. When Sydney nodded, she continued, thrusting her hand out to shake. "I'm Rhonda, Mr. Bryar's assistant. Why don't you have a seat in his office? He'll be right with you."  
  
Sydney quietly followed down a short hallway, past cubicles overflowing with paperwork and harried employees. She paused briefly before a smoked glass partition to check her hair. The reddish-blonde bob was not the most flattering she'd ever worn, but it was an adequate disguise. Tucking a loose strand behind her ear, Sydney smiled graciously as Rhonda stopped by an open office door.  
  
"Would you like anything, Ms. Chance? Coffee? Water?"  
  
"No, thank you, Rhonda," Sydney affected a mild southern twang and shook her head. "I'm fine. Will Mr. Bryar be long?"  
  
"No, no," Rhonda insisted, backing out of the office as Sydney took a seat in one of the upholstered chairs before the modest mahogany desk. "I'll let him know you're waiting. It won't be but a minute or two." She disappeared, and Sydney suppressed a chuckle at the thought of Rhonda careening hurriedly through the hallways to fetch her boss.  
  
Apparently, her boss wasn't that far away.  
  
"Nick! Your two-thirty is in your office!" Rhonda's voice floated in the room and Sydney's heart leapt into her throat. He was closer than she'd anticipated, and now she was nervous. She didn't get nervous often. She was uncomfortable with it, and displaced it with imaginings of him flirting with his young assistant. Smiling, Sydney knew he couldn't - wouldn't - help himself. His history with young assistants had taught her this much.  
  
"I'll be right there," His voice. It grabbed Sydney roughly; she momentarily struggled to remain calm.  
  
"After your meeting, should we work on the mailing for the Silverman campaign?" Rhonda's tone had changed. Deeper, slower. sexier. "I could stay late, if it's necessary."  
  
Sydney turned her face toward the window, grinning so hard that her cheeks hurt.  
  
"No, that's okay," He dismissed her, but in a way that didn't cast her off completely. "Hey, do me a favor?" His voice, growing louder, was hurried. "If Samuel calls, send it straight in, okay?"  
  
Sydney shifted in the chair, adjusted her navy skirt, straightened her blazer. She had just folded her hands demurely in her lap when Nicholas Bryar breezed in the door, a stack of papers in each hand. He didn't look up as he made his way to his desk, speaking almost as an afterthought.  
  
"Hi, sorry I'm late," Stopping behind his desk, he dropped the papers and then shoved aside a file folder to see his appointment schedule. Sydney took that moment to look him over. His hair was dark, his glasses horn- rimmed. A five o'clock shadow graced his strong jaw. "Ms. Chance," Nick said, pronouncing her name carefully. "I'm Nick Bryar, and it's a pleasure to-"  
  
Lifting his gaze to Sydney's face as he bent to shake her hand, Nick stopped short, his eyes wide.  
  
"Oh my god," He muttered, rooted to the spot.  
  
Sydney rose to her feet, her face a mask of concern. "Are you all right?"  
  
Nick shook his head, blinking hard as if to wash an unpleasant image from his sight.  
  
"Yeah, yes," He insisted, coming to suddenly and shaking her hand. "You just." He studied her face again as she returned to her seat. "You look a lot like someone I used to know."  
  
Sydney smiled though her stomach was in knots. "Mr. Bryar, would you be so kind as to close the office door?"  
  
Nick didn't move for a moment, surprised by her request. Mulling it over and still drawn to her face, he shrugged.  
  
"Uhm, sure, no problem," He made his way to the door and pushed it closed. Turning back to Sydney, he gasped in shock and terror as he witnessed her removing her wig and glasses, her long chestnut hair tumbling to her shoulders.  
  
"Will," She smiled timidly. "I am that someone you used to know."  
  
"Oh, god, no," Will Tippin backed up against the door, his body falling heavily against it. "Who the hell are you? You sent you? I'm getting security-" He scrambled for the door handle and was about to burst out into the hallway when Sydney's voice stopped him cold.  
  
"Will, it was tequila. We were drinking tequila and eating ice cream, and I spilled some on your sweater," The words tumbled from her lips faster than her mind recalled the details. She rushed to add them, to assure him he had no reason to fear. "We'd made our own sundaes. With chocolate syrup. It was blue! Your sweater was blue."  
  
Once again, Will slumped back against the door, his blue eyes wide and wild as he looked Sydney from head to toe. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, his mind struggling to believe what his eyes could not.  
  
"You're dead," He said finally, his voice hollow. "I know you died. They found your body."  
  
"Someone's body," Sydney rushed to clarify. "Not my body." She took a few steps forward, dropping the wig and glasses on the chair. "Will, it's really me."  
  
Will released his death grip on the door handle and forced his feet to walk, to close the gap between them. His breathing was heavy, his heart hammering away within his chest. Tentatively, he raised a hand to Sydney's cheek and touched her skin, almost surprised to find it warm and smooth.  
  
"Are you real?" He whispered, bringing his other hand to the opposing cheek, his fingertips moist with the tears she shed. "Oh, god, don't let me be dreaming."  
  
"Will," His name was all Sydney could say, a sob lodged in her throat and choking what was left of her voice. She lifted her hands and placed them over his so that they were both touching her face, their fingers intertwined.  
  
"Sydney," Will breathed out her name as if it were a confession. "I don't. I can't." He pulled back from her and rubbed at his eyes and the gathering tears. "How? Just. how?"  
  
"I don't know," Sydney admitted, shaking her head. "I just got back. Two years, I was gone."  
  
"And you found me," Will shook his head. "Why?"  
  
"Because finding you brings me one step closer to reclaiming what I lost," Sydney explained quietly, sliding her hand into his. "And to reclaiming myself. I'm not myself without my friends. Especially you, Will."  
  
Without another word, Will engulfed Sydney in his arms. She pressed herself into his embrace, hot tears once again springing to her eyes and trailing down her flushed cheeks.  
  
"I know it's dangerous for me to have come," Sydney finally spoke again when they parted. "And I hope you don't think me selfish for wanting to see you."  
  
"No," Will insisted. "If I knew you were back, that you were okay, I-" He stopped, smiling gently. "I would have endangered my own life to see you."  
  
Sydney grinned, sniffing quietly. Will was about to hug her again when his phone rang, startling them both. Will reached to grab the receiver.  
  
"Nick Bryar," He listened intently to the voice on the line. "No, Rhonda, that's okay, but could you tell him I'll call him back? And hold all my calls, please," Looking up at Sydney, he grinned in a way that warmed her in places she'd forgotten deep within. "My meeting with Ms. Chance is going to run late."  
  
****** 


End file.
